Nah, course Labours gonna win next year. A man stumbled into the toilets, voice echoing back from the tiles. Stands to reason, dont it?
Callum flinched.
The warm sticky breath disappeared and the slimy slug trail on his cheek went cold. Now the only thing left was the plink, plink, plink of the dripping tap and the jaggy sour smell of wee.
He fumbled his willy back into his pants. Zipped up with shaky fingers.
They better win. Another man dressed in the same checked shirt and scruffy jeans as his friend long hair dangling down round his face, cigarette poking from the corner of his mouth. Can you imagine another four years of these bawbags?
No sign of the Slug.
Callums breath shuddered out. He sagged for a moment. Then scuffed across to the sinks and washed his hands. Scrubbed a wet hand across the cold patch on his cheek. Dried himself on a greying curl of fabric hanging from the towel machine.
Stepped over to the exit.
And froze.
What if the Slug hadnt gone away? What if he was out there, just waiting for him? Waiting to grab him and take him away and punish him and hed never see his mummy and daddy ever again and it would be horrible and...
The stabby pain was back. He hurried to the urinals, up on his tiptoes again, making little grunty noises as the wee went down the drain.
Then washed his hands again, cos Mum didnt like widdly hands in the car.
Both the guys in the grungy clothes were laughing at some joke about two nuns and a donkey that made no sense at all. Peeing and peeing and peeing like theyd drunk a whole bathtub full of Fanta. They didnt wash their hands either, just lit up cigarettes and sauntered out the exit with their hands in their pockets.
Callum wiped his sweaty hands on his shorts again.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
The sound of a car faded into the distance.
It would be OK. It would.
Dad would get angry about how long he was taking and come get him.
Then hed shout at Callum, and maybe spank the back of his legs, but hed scare the Slug away and everything would be OK again.
It would.
Callum swallowed.
Shifted from foot to foot in his gritty flip-flops.
Come on, Daddy. Come on...
Itd been ages now.
What if theyd got fed up, driven off and left him?
What if theyd forgotten he was here, in the toilets?
What if they never came back?
What if the Slug did?
Oh no...
Callum hurried outside.
Dads car and the caravan were still there.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Hed never be naughty, ever again. Hed do everything Mum asked him. Hed tidy his room. Hed even be nice to Alastair the bumhead.
A rumble of thunder, off in the distance, mingled with the traffic noises from the road.
He ran fast as a rabbit to Dads car and grabbed the door handle. But it just clunked up and down. The door didnt open.
Alastair mustve locked it. Well, he was going to get a dead arm soon as Mum and Dad werent looking. It wasnt funny: locking people out of the car when there was a horrible Slug slithering about trying to steal little boys like something horrid from a fairy tale.
Callum knocked on the window.
Tried the handle again.
Still locked.
Stood on his tiptoes, and peered in through the glass.
The bumhead wasnt on the back seat. Or in the footwell.
Mum?
She wasnt in the passenger seat. And Dad wasnt behind the wheel. The car was empty.
Hello?
Another boom of thunder, loud enough to make him jump. Theyd left him. Theyd run away and left him.
How could they leave him?
Callums bottom lip trembled.
He backed against Dads car. Dad?
They couldnt have left him. They couldnt.
It wasnt his fault he needed a wee...
Mum?
And what if the Slug came back? A drop of rain burst against the lumpy tarmac.
What if the Slug was waiting for him?
Please...
Another drop. Then another. And another. Thumping down on the car roof like the feet of a tiny monster. Soaking through his hair and his T-shirt.
Maybe...
Maybe theyd all gone for a wee too? But then hed have seen Dad and Alistair, wouldnt he? In the Gents?
Or maybe they were in the caravan?
The breath rushed out of Callum, replaced by a smile. Yeah, that was it: they were in the caravan making cups of tea.
What an idiot. Of course they were.
Boiling the kettle on the little gas cooker.
He ran to the caravans door. Twisted the handle and climbed inside. Clunked the door shut behind him.
Only there was no one there.
The smile died.
Callum checked under the table, checked the loo, he even checked the cupboards.
No one.
Mum?
A flash of white turned the caravans insides black-and-white, then the thunder roared, rain clattering against the roof. Callum blinked. Rubbed a hand across his eyes. Stared out through the window at the front of the caravan where the folding table and the benches that turned into Mum and Dads bed were.
Someone was out there. A figure in the rain: big and hunched, moving with slow lumbering steps.
The Slug.
Callum ran for the caravan door and hauled the handle up, locking it. Backed away.
Another flash, followed by a deafening crash, like someone had jammed a metal dustbin over his head and battered it with a hammer.
He dropped to his knees and scrambled under the table. Curled up against the wall.
Dont move. Dont make any noise. Quiet and still as a mouse.
Outside, something scratched along the caravans walls. It started over by the chemical loo, grinding and squealing across the metal, working its way slowly around, behind him, and past to the caravans door.
Stopped.
Callum stared.
The handle twisted. Not far. Just a teeny weeny bit, till the lock stopped it. Twisted again. Then silence.
Maybe the Slug had given up? Maybe hed gone away? Maybe hed
The whole door shook banging and clattering in its frame.
No! Callum wrapped his arms around his head and bit his bottom lip till he could taste pennies. Go away, go away, go away...
Then the noise faded, leaving nothing behind but the battering drone of rain on the caravan roof.
The Slug had given up.
He had to.
The caravan was locked, he couldnt get in.
A trembly sob rattled its way out of Callum. Safe.
And then that dark slimy voice crept through the caravan wall, as if the Slugs lips were right up against it. Your mummy and daddy dont love you any more. They say youre ugly and stupid and useless and they dont want you. So theyve given you to me.
No. They wouldnt do that. They wouldnt leave him.
They couldnt...
Youre mine now, little boy. You belong to me. Scratching noises against the wall. Now open the door and let me in.
A hand on his arm. Gah! Callum flinched.
Franklin frowned at him. Are you OK?
He let out a shuddery breath, looking down at the photo of the four of them in their holiday clothes. What?
She pointed at the photo. I said, Youve got an identical twin?
He clicked the wallet closed and slipped it into his back pocket. A long time ago.
16
Hairy Harry loomed over the wrinkled body on the cutting table, humming away to himself. A huge breezeblock of a man, with rounded shoulders and a bit of a gut on him. Hed tucked the last six inches of his Victorian-style beard into the top of his apron. A blue-camouflage bandanna covered the top of his head, his long furry ponytail poking out the back of it. Hairy Harrys voice was surprisingly soft and warm for someone who looked as if they ate live badgers. Now thats interesting...
He reached into the open body cavity, coming out with a chunk of shrivelled black, holding it aloft like that baboon did at the start of Disneys The Lion King. Have you ever seen a liver look like that before, all dried out and wrinkly?
Lucy shook her head and made another note on her clipboard.
Fascinating.
Theyd laid the body out on its back, not so much uncurling the limbs as snapping them off at the dry brittle joints. Legs and arms, positioned either side of the smoke-coloured ribs.
Franklin had her own arms folded, voice so low it was barely a whisper. At least this one doesnt smell as bad.
Hairy Harry went back in, coming out with what looked like a dehydrated snake. Well, well, well...
Mother and McAdams stood off to one side, heads together, McAdams poking away at his mobile phone as she talked in hushed tones. Every now and then, shed look up and stare at Callum. Then go back to conspiring with her poetry-spouting sidekick. Probably trying to figure out what crappy job to punish him with next.
Amazing, when you think about it. Hairy Harry stuck his gloved hands on the hips of his purple scrubs. The only internal organs still attached are the heart and the lungs, everything else has been taken out, preserved, then put back in again. Its almost impossible to tell cause of death from the soft tissue, because there isnt any its all like beef jerky.
The mummys ribcage lay on a trolley against the wall, its covering of leathery skin too dried-on to remove like in a normal post mortem.
No external sign of trauma, other than the discolouration around the throat which could just be pigmentation from the preservation, but looks more like ante-mortem bruising to me. And then theres this. He held up a little jar full of tiny discoloured spheres and gave it a shake, making them rattle against the glass. Youll need to get it tested, but unless Im very much mistaken, its silica gel. The kind of thing that comes in those little sachets they stick in bags, shoes, and handbags to sook up moisture and stop them going mouldy. His mouth was stuffed with it. More in the oesophagus, trachea, and sinus cavities. Well have to rehydrate the stomach to find out, but Im willing to bet well find some there too.
Mother wandered back to the table. Excuse me, Dr Jenkins, I have to borrow Detective Constable MacGregor here.
Oh. That didnt sound good. Whatever horror she and McAdams had come up with, it was about to spatter down on Callums head.
Please, its Harrison. And by all means. The young mans a bit of a fidget anyway.
Everyones a critic.
She pulled on a smile. Thank you. Then headed for the exit. Come on, Constable.
Here we go.
Callum leaned closer to Franklin. Try not to punch anyone else, OK? And followed Mother out, through the changing room, past the rows and rows of refrigeration units, across the reception area, and out into the rain.
She shrugged her shoulders up around her ears and hurried across the puddled tarmac to her battered Fiat Panda. Hurled herself in behind the wheel and beckoned at him from the safety of the car.